C'est la Mort
by mrsspontmercy
Summary: Before his patria, Enjolras loved Eponine. A oneshot.


**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **this is what i was trying to do with my other fic, but due to the amount of time i have to write, i probably won't be able to update it very often, if at all. so i condensed it down to a one shot! reviews and constructive critism are more than welcome and i hope you like it!

* * *

_you are the air keeping me alive_

* * *

she sneaks up on him one day while he is least expecting it, her dress in tatters around her ankles.

"marius is not here." he isn't very patient, and as of late his tolerance for pontmercy's confessions of love have been grinding on his nerves. the last thing he wants is to explain to eponine where her new crush is.

"i am not here for marius." she doesn't take another step forward and instead glances at him warily. enjolras. the fearless leader. the man with a blaze instead of his heart in his soul. passion. that is what he has that marius seems to lack (unless it comes to his darling cosette).

enjolras scribbles on the papers in front of him, barely looking up to glance at her. her eyes are darker, hair more matted than the last time he saw her. the candlelight flickers, casting strange shadows around her pronounced cheekbones. "what are you here for?" he asks gathering the papers together to hide them for the next day.

"why do you do it?" for a woman who seems harsh and unafraid, her voice is gentle and soft; barely a whisper reaching his ears.

"do what madamoiselle?" he knows her name. eponine. but his tongue doesn't let him speak, doesn't let him utter the name that haunts his dreams.

"plan. it is a lost cause." she notices that he doesn't say her name; that he is back to calling her mademoiselle and it breaks her. but she is strong and she will not show it. she is better than that.

he scoffs. "it is not a lost cause." he doesn't tell her that he is doing it for her. he doesn't tell her that he does it because she has opened his eyes and he doesn't tell her that he is sorry; sorry for making promises, sorry for falling in love with her

"yes it is. there are not enough of you. so why do you do it?"

"why do you bother with marius?" he doesn't mean to say it so harshly, but it does and he regrets it instantly, her body almost deflating in front of him.

"because he is honest with me." she attempts to recollect herself, her pride getting in the way of what she wants to say. _"you pushed me to him. when you left."_ but the words don't come out. instead, she remains still, aching to reach out to enjolras, to tell him not to walk straight to his deathbed._"don't leave me."_ but she can't. because he is a fire.

_and you cannot contain fire._

* * *

_you are the wind whispering in my ear_

* * *

she doesn't go to him after that, can't bare to see him plan his death so diligently. instead she fills her days with pick-pocketing moving through the people in the street like fluid, her body melding with theirs. she is a shadow. a ghost. forever unseen and invisible.

but not to enjolras.

he watches carefully, waiting for the day that she gets caught. part of him hopes that she will; at least then she will be safe when their world goes to hell. she is strong. independent. and knows that if she isn't held against her will from the barricade that she will be there. and he can't watch her die.

part of him knows that it will be his end; that she is right and that it is a lost cause. but he is making a wave. a wave from the water she provided. it wasn't until her that he knew just how bad thing were for the people of paris. it wasn't until he heard her stomach growl and her body grow thinner that he realized there were those who weren't getting enough to eat. she was the reason he had started this. she was the one who had ignited the spark.

but she was also the one who calmed it.

revolution planning takes over and he spends his nights writing speech after speech until his fingers grow sore and his wrists weak. he knows there are some who do not believe he is serious, but most of the boys know he is dedicated; that this is not a project. he is their statue. he is their beacon to follow. and he will not disappoint.

but even statues need breaks.

and eponine haunts his dreams. her face fills the blackness of his mind and he can almost imagine her smiling, her eyes lighting up because of something he said and not marius. he can almost feel her breath on his neck as they sat in silence, or the way her fingers managed to interlace with his as she showed him the streets he had always avoidedl

"enjolras." her voice is silk, soothing the troubled thoughts in his head and he thinks it is another dream. but when he opens his eyes she is there, hidden behind a cascade of her matted hair.

"you were dreaming," she whispers and he wonders how she found him until he realizes that he has fallen asleep at the table in the musain, and the papers are scattered beneath his arms

"i haven't seen you around lately," he says his voice laced with exasperation. he can't remember the last time he got a full nights sleep.

she shrugs. "sometimes i get caught." he doesn't push her, doesn't ask her what happened, but instead stares. she looks worse, her collarbone straining against the smooth skin of her chest and the bags under her eyes seem darker and more pronounced than usual.

"marius isn't here." marius. her love. the man who cannot love her back and he feels jealous of the other man; jealous that he has managed to capture eponine's love when he himself was a fool and let it go.

"i'm not here for marius." he watches her crouch on the floor beside him and wonders what she is there for. they don't speak. he gathers up his papers in a pile and she stares at him.

"i never did know what you were thinking," he says absentmindedly. although it is true. she was a puzzle, an enigma with her side smirks and nimble fingers.

"all you must do is ask." but he can't. he can't ask her what she wants or what she is doing there because he is afraid of the answer. he is afraid of her.

_because if he is fire, she must be water that can put him out._

* * *

_you are the sun blinding my vision_

* * *

she never does tell him why she was there or what she was looking for, but she spends the rest of her night there as he cleans up and it almost reminds him of the old times before his plans for a revolution. but the way she flinches when he touches her is a reminder of what he gave up.

she returns every night and each time he tells her that marius isn't there and she repeats "i know." he wonders why she is there, why she continues to find him asleep on the table but never asks, afraid that the answer will change his mind.

"promise to be careful." she isn't weak and she will never beg, but she wants to make him promise to come back, make him promise that he will not die out there. she loves him. she loves his dedication, his fierceness, but she also hates him. hates him for choosing a revolution over her. hates him for making a choice that left her in the mud to pick up her broken pride.

that was when she found marius, with his caring eyes and tender embrace. she had seen him around before and admired him from afar, but with enjolras by her side she had not craved the attention and kindness marius had shown her. until enjolras whispered the words that shattered her reality.

"we can't do this."

he had always been too much of a gentleman to sleep with her. even holding her hand in the dark alleyways had made him cringe at first. and then he had chosen to leave it all for guns and speeches and plans. she should have known. she should have known that the spark within him was too much for her. she should have known that by being with him, she was holding him back; smothering the flame.

and she tried to forget. and for awhile, marius had let her. she had fallen in love with the idea of marius, with the eyes that never looked at her as though she was lesser than him. but he had never been as bright as enjolras. he had never clouded her vision or made her feel real.

which was why she continued to check up on him. she had to make sure he was okay. she needed to know that he was there and that he was not going to burn out. she needed to know that his plan was to come back from the barricade.

"i come for you." she whispers to him the night before. she doesn't know that tomorrow is the day he will walk away. "i am not stupid, bourgeois boy. i know you are afraid." she teases almost. "you may not be able to read my thoughts, but i know yours. i hear you mutter. i sit and i listen and i soothe you. forget. for one night forget." that is all she asks, for him to be with her for one night. to take a walk. to remember what it was like when he didn't have a care, when he read his books while she counted her coins from the day and put off taking them to her father.

and he nods, stiffly standing up. forgetting for one night can't hurt. his speeches are written, the guns accounted for and maybe, just maybe, this is what he needs. one night.

they walk in silence down the familiar streets she knows by heart and he listens to the wind, imagining messages it will carry later. she doesn't make any move towards him and their shoulders barely touch, but he can feel her warmth, feel her presence. and he does feel calm. because he is ready to die. because even if it is a lost cause and they all die, it will have sparked a fire within the people. and he will have made a difference.

"why do you care?" he asks staring straight ahead, watching the shadows play against the walls; they are his demons. the unknown.

"because you are my blaze." she whispers and her hand finds his and she clenches it as they walk slowly back to the musain. he is her blaze. and she is his relaxant; his clarity.

"this is where i leave you." she doesn't want to let him go, not when she feels as though maybe, just maybe, he will let her back in. but he lets go of her hand, not realizing how tightly he had been holding hers. he stares at her, three words on his tongue, and she thinks that he will say it. she thinks that maybe she will hear what she needs, but instead he turns on his heel back to his speeches.

_one night didn't help him forget; it made him remember._

* * *

_you are the poison tearing me apart_

* * *

he knows this is it and he scrambles to find the guns while the others build the barricade. it is now or never. this is his time. he can hear the shouts, the screams of protest as people steal chairs from under people, but he has no time to think.

now is the time for action.

he can't find eponine, but he knows that she will be there. but he doesn't have the time to find her, or to make one last request to her that she leave. this isn't the place for her. but he knows that she would say this isn't the place for him.

the walk with her was what he needed. he needed to spend one last time with her, in case he does die at the barricade. and he knows that he will. it is his place. it is his destiny. she helped him see that, helped him come to terms with that. and as he hands out the guns to the men around him, he can't help but smile softly to himself.

"enjolras, don't tell me you are turning into marius!" combeferre shouts at him and enjolras just turns his head. he isn't a love sick puppy. he is a statue now and he is ready to fight.

marius walks up to him and the barricade is built. together they stand, red flag between their hands, as they wait.

"surrender now!" the guards shout from beyond the barricade and together everyone shouts a resounding "no." enjolras braces himself, prepared for the gunfire, and he is not disappointed.

the bullets fly and he hears it, shooting his own gun towards them, hiding in between the many chairs and wood that they used to build it until there is another commotion. he looks up to see marius, a barrel in one hand and a flame in the other. it takes enjolras a few moments to realize what is happening, but when he does he notices someone else has already seen.  
the face is familiar, and althoughh the dark hair is up beneath a hat, he knows who it is.

"eponine, no!" he exclaims, running up to her but freezes in place at the sound of a gun firing. he can't move. can't speak. and she walks down before collapsing on the ground but before he can go up to her, marius already has and holds her.

it should be him, not marius, holding her. it should be him who is there, cradling her head as she takes her last breaths, but his legs won't make him walk. not until she hands him a note and he watches her body go limp but he can't cry. he waits, but they don't come.

it was shock, joly will tell him later. you couldn't feel anything.

and he doesn't. not when he watches marius kiss her forehead (it should have been him), not when enjolras himself kneels down to lift her body (it should have been him) and not when he puts her down, gently taking off her hat (it should have been him). she was the first to fall. but it should have been him. she wasn't supposed to die. not like this. not now. he wasn't supposed to watch.

_i love you._

that is what he should have said; what he was going to say the night before. had he known that she would die in front of him maybe he would have. maybe he would have told her everything he felt from the day he met her. but he had been afraid. she had made him afraid. she had been both the cause of the blaze and the extinguisher that put it out. she had been his love before the patria. and she had died not knowing how he felt.

later, he will forget. when night comes and he looks at the barricade he makes a promise that she will not have died in vain; that none of the boys will have died in vain. it was his doing. he is the reason. and it is a guilt that he will carry with him until he stands with grantaire, flag in hand, and is shot in the chest.

but before he falls he almost swears he can hear her whisper.

_"__i love you too, blaze boy."_


End file.
